Circles and Lines
by jellybabyneedsjelly
Summary: Aspen is a teen struggling to live alone, with only a tiny wooden police box to remember her parents by. One day, she sees something out of the corner of her eye that wasn't there before- a lonely stone angel. Aspen finds herself suddenly launched into a mixed-up, inside-out adventure to save the planet. Day of the Doctor AU
1. prologue

**Sooo. Anyways Jels is here and I have another story! Yay! Another means of procrastination! This is a shorter story and won't be updated as much as my other stuff because it's kind of on the back burner until I finish Saving Grace. It's a first draft, pls excuse typos.**

 **I'm only gonna say this once- I am not affiliated with and do not own anything related to Doctor Who. It is property of the BBC and not mine. I only own Aspen.**

The snow swirls in light happy eddies around my feet as I forge through the cold, pulling the collar of my sweatshirt over my neary numb face. The cold burns the inside of my nose as I draw in a long deep breath.

The crunching of my feet against icy gravel draws my attention back to reality as I stop, kneeling down in front of the wind-worn gravestone. My fingers trace the name carved into the side- _Michelle Glass, 1976-2006, Adam Glass, 1972-2006. Rest in Peace._ I sigh as I flop down Indian-style in front of it, leaning my ebows on my knees.

"It's another cold day," I speak into the empty air. "I made it, though. Well, obviously. It's almost Christmas," I pause, wiping the sadnes from my face, before continuing. "I really miss you guys. I love you."

I reach into my pocket and pull out the one thing I have to remember them by- a little carved wooden police call box, painted blue. It's no more than two inches tall. "It's been almost eleven years since you died," I say softly. The shadows stretch long, worrying me into soon departure. "Love you guys."

I kiss the top of the gravestone and haul myself off of the ground, the empty pit inside of me like a black hole, consuming all happiness in my life. Turning the little police box over in my hand, the pad of my finger traces the spacey carving, circles and lines, engraved on the bottom. It's the only thing I've got left of my parents- the rest burned That Day.

I stuff my hands back in my pockets and stomp off through the snow, back to the dumpy little house I call home. The door swings open with a long screech as I stomp the snow off of my boots, hanging up my coat.

I slap the little police box down on the counter. Kneeling down, I view it from all angles, turning it with the end of a pen. I remember when my mom gave it to me. I'd only been four. _Aspen,_ she'd said, stroking my long pale curls, _this is for you._

 _What is it, Momma?_ I'd asked.

 _It's a magic police box. There's a man who lives in it, who flies it around and fights monsters so little girls like you can sleep safe at night._

I'd set it on my dresser and stared at it, waiting for the man to come out. I fell asleep with it there, and it sat bleak and still, untouched for five years- not until The Day.

My hands grip the edges of the counter as a flashback hits me. _Smoke floated in hazy curtains through the air, choking my throat as the shrill whine of the smoke alarm jolted me from my slumber. I knew that smoke alarm meant danger, so I grabbed my most precious possessions- a ratty stuffed tiger and the magic wooden police box- and bolted._

 _I opened the door to a bright orange glow. The carpet in the hall was licked with flames, racing hungrily towards my small feet. I screamed as they neared me, leapt along my rug and across my wall, greedily devouring the drawings I'd hung with care. The doorway was swathed in smoke- I couldn't see through it._

 _I backpedaled, my slight nine-year-old frame straining to open the window and push out the screen and straddle the edge. The flames were already eating away at the windowsill. A tongue of red leapt onto my arm and raced up my pajama sleeve, sending red-hot pains shooting through my body and causing me to fling myself over the edge of the second-story window._

 _My stomach jumped into my throat as I plummeted, crashing into the old sycamore outside my window. I held a death grip on both police box and tiger as my body bounced off of thicker branches and tore through thin ones as well as spiderwebs. I hit the ground with a solitary thud. Pain leeched through my senses. I screamed and thrashed until my throat was numb and a fiefighter yanked me away from the flaming house._

 _I sat swaddled tightly in a shock blanket as I numbly watched the roof cave into the flaming monstrosity that used to be my house, knowing but not being able to process that my parents had burned to death inside._

I crumple onto the floor, pulling my knees to my chest as I try to restrain the sobs that rack through my body. I yank up my left sleeve. Underneath is rough, puckered pink skin tracing up my arm. Another sob echoes in my throat as I bury my face in my knees.

 **So anyways here it is, reviews are lovely. This is a prologue and rather depressing at that, the rest of the story will have lighter spots I promise. I love all of you and thanks for reading this. :) Also cover image coming soon :D**


	2. I

**Hello friends and welcome back to Circles and Lines. I present a rather disjointed chapter which will be cleaned up eventually, but I hope y'all like it.** **So anyways read away!**

The moonlight glints off of the fresh coat of snow, littered with prints made by both humans and animals. The wrought-iron gates of the cemetery loom over my head, casting skeletal shadows in front of me. I peer through the gate at the tombstones silhouetted by the eerie full moon, trees and statues standing out creepily.

A faint whisper of noise draws my attention back to the white-dusted path in front of me. Six yards ahead stands a solitary figure, faintly illuminated at the edges.

I approach them cautiously. "Uh, hello?"

They stay perfectly still, their hands nearly covering their face. Strange lumps protrude from their back.

"Hey, are you alright?"

I don't get an answer.

My sneakers crunch softly into the snow as I circle the figure.

It's a stone angel.

The hairs at the back of my neck raise as I look into her eyes. Even though she's only stone I can't help but feel like she's staring into my soul; chills run down my spine. My mind begs me to look away, but my eyes are riveted to the strange statue.

A stick snaps behind me, galvanizing me into action, my feet slam into the icy ground, propelling me towards home. My door screen door clashes closed behind me as I slouch against my counter, breathing heavily from my sprint.

The next day, I crawl out from under a mound of blankets and a cat to tackle my weekly pile of college homework. Pushing the eggs around on my plate, I flip through the papers, ignoring the fuzzy orange cat sitting in the window and squeaking.

Sighing, I push in my chair and yank on my soft black sweatshirt, flinging a knitted red scarf around my neck. The cold air slaps me in the face as I swing open the door and step out onto the frozen-over snow. Then I stop for a moment.

Leaning back inside, I snatch the tiny police box and stuff it in my pocket on a gut feeling. My feet crunch into the snow as I breathe in the fresh air, letting it clear my mind. The wind rattles through the naked trees.

My breath puffs out into the sky, drifting away on the icy breeze. The cold stately headstones in the cemetary stand out stark abd black against the whitewashed landscape, filling me with a sense of foreboding. A lone angel statue stands tall and erect against the grey sky.

I shake my head, burrowing my chin deeper into the warmth of my scarf. I'm being absolutely ridiculous.

When I reach the outlet store I work at, I rip off my sweatshirt and toss it on the couch in the break room, clipping on my nametag and squaring my shoulders, putting on my "customer voice."

"Aspen, hey," my supervisor, Leah, stops me less than two feet out of the door. "So glad you're here. Steph called in sick again so you need to do overtime again, m'kay?"

I open my mouth to protest, but a disgruntled woman stalks up to Leah. "Ma'am, this shirt isn't in my daughter's size. Can you go look in the back for me?"

I can see the sigh waiting to burst forth from Leah as she gives me "the eyeball." I nod and start to re-fold the mussed-up t-shirts on a shelf next to me, rolling my eyes.

"Hey, want some help with that?" A girl a little younger than me approaches.

"Nah, I've got it." I brush her off. It's only a few shelves.

"You sure?"

I bite back a sarcastic _No, I said the opposite of what I meant, Ma'am,_ and instead reply, "Yes, ma'am, I'm sure I'll be able to handle it."

"A'right. It's just, that's a lot of shirts to fold."

"Don't worry, I've done more." I smile and turn back to the mountain of scrambled t-shirts. Ugh.

I grumble under my breath, yanking my sweatshirt and stepping out into the night. I sure as hell had better be getting paid for overtime.

The moonlight glints off of the tombstones as I make my way past the creepy cemetery. I silently curse the location of my sad, tired house as I pass the cemetery gates. The skeletal spires loom high above me, stark against the snow. I glance across the land, looking for the angel statue, but I can't find it. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

I pick up my feet and dash the rest of the way home.

My computer offers a solace from what I've seen. I search up mythology and urban legends surrounding stone angels, scanning through website after website whilst searching for clues. Pumpkin, the soft orange cat, rumbles gently under my fingers as I stroke his head. She offers a faint comfort.

Finally, I find what looks to be a conspiracy theorist's website. I click through to find he's been documenting sightings of moving stone angels. He's got reports going back to the 1970's, most of which are linked to missing-persons cases.

My pale brows furrow. _Why would they be missing?_ Maybe it's some type of sick, stalkerish game. Maybe I'm the next victim.

On a sudden note of inspiration, I fumble for a notebook and start to take down every sighting I've had. The one yesterday- the really creepy one I saw on the way home from my parents' tombstone in the cemetery next to my house (seriously, why did I _ever_ decide to move next door to a cemetery?) and the one I saw less than an hour ago, on the way home from overtime at the store.

That night, as I lay in bed, I hold the little police box in my hand. My fingers trace gently over the words carved into the top- POLICE BOX proudly emblazons the panel above the tiny door. Ever since I was little, I've tried to open the door to see the man inside. It started out as a serious venture, but now I just do it for the sake of familiarity. As always, the door doesn't open.

I set it down on my bedside table as Pumpkin curls up against my leg. I fall asleep with it there, watching over me, and I feel safe.

 **So anyhoo friends here is another chapter. I know where I'm going with this story, I'm just having a disjointed and awkward time getting there... I'll clean it up and smooth it out for the final draft. But for now, enjoy!**

 **-Jels**


	3. II

**YOOO I'M BACK GUYS So anyways here is another chapter. I was thankful for getting two reviews, here is an update,** _ **please review it encourages me so much and I love it**_

 **We're jumping in rather abruptly here, faster than I usually do. This was kind of stretched out over spotty periods of no wifi and writer's block, and being trampled by a herd of plot bunnies for SPN, Avengers, MORE DW, Peter Pan, and even more, I swear I'm working on this story too I promise**

 **Anyways read on and REVIEW PLEASE**

The sun rises high, along with my hopes. The snow has cleared up, leaving only merrily dripping leaves and tiny streams running over the concrete. My sneakers skip and splash through puddles.

I take a deep breath of the clean cold air, letting it refresh my senses. The clear blue sky vaults high above me, lifting my spirits and putting a spring in my step. I love winter.

Tugging on my sweatshirt strings so the hood opening scrunches up all tiny, I leap over a puddle and end up crashing into the cemetary gates.

My head jerks upwards from the ground in shock and embarrassment. Facing me are four angel statues, staring _directly at me,_ and looking irritated. Almost as if I'd interrupted a top-secret angel ritual. I cringe.

Their dead stone eyes follow me as I stand, peering straight through me as if I were made of glass. I'd swear they were scowling at me if it weren't for the fact that stone angels can't scowl. I shudder involuntarily, trying my damnedest to look away. My eyes remain riveted to the ringleader's face.

I feel invisible spiders scurrying up my spine as I back away. A resounding crash echoes from behind me, and I spin around to see.

A fifth angel stands there, hand outstretched, as if it had pushed over the trashcan, now rolling on the floor. I let out a squeak at the angel's utterly malignant expression.

I turn back around and shriek. The four angels are inches from me, faces twisted and demonic, clawed fingers grasping for my throat. Blood pounds through my head, tinging the corners of my vision. How the- how the shit.

My braid snaps against my shoulders as my head jerks back and forth, realizing with an utter sense of horror that the angel statues are getting closer. A strangled scream dies in my throat as I feel a horrible claw snag through my hair, squeezing my eyes shut and praying.

A breath of warm air hits my face. I furrow my pale eyebrows in confusion, daring to crack open an eyelid. In front of me lies a long, sloping plain covered in a lush carpet of green. I blink twice and sniff.

Seriously, what the hell.

My nervous system has gone into emergency shutdown. Otherwise, I'd be dashing around like a penguin with its ass on fire, trying to figure out what has gone wrong with the world and just exactly why I'm standing in a meadow in what is obviously summer, from the size of the sun and the warmth of the air. It doesn't even smell like Minnesota, for heaven's sake.

Pulling a deep, floral breath in through my nose, I massage my temples and attempt to take stock of my surroundings. I once read a tip that if you get all your panicking done at once and out of the way, it clears your head and leaves you more able-bodied. As my impromptu mouthing of profanities has drawn to a close, I think it's time to look around.

Meadow like I said before, sloping away underneath a wide blue sky. A few stony crags jut from the sides of hills, and a few scattered copses dot the landscape. Digging my fingers through my pockets, I come up with a phone, my car keys, half a stick of old nasty gum that's probably gone through the washing machine multiple times, and the little police box carving. I'd forgotten I'd slipped that into my hoodie. It offers me a little familiarity now, still vaguely scented like the perfume of my home.

There's no connection on my phone, so I endeavor to climb to the top of one of the stony crags to try to pinpoint my location. I know that the sun sets in the west, but right now it's right in the middle of the sky, around noon, so I don't know what to do with that.

My sneakers scuff over tiny dandelions and flowering clover, the sweet scents of broken grass and flora drifting into the sky. My head nods and my eyes threaten to close, my limbs growing heavy. I'm suddenly reminded of the enchanted poppy field from The Wizard of Oz, and steel my nerves against the fatigue typically left in the wake of panic.

I balance on stiff tired legs in a triumphant pose, my arms arcing behind my head as I gasp for breath. What had started out as a simple task turned into a thirty-minute climb; all the grass makes distances a bit leery.

From my perch atop a rock on the summit of a soft green hill, I can see for what looks like miles. And as I spin to survey the grounds beneath me, I spot something that makes my heart nearly stop in my chest.

A blue police box stands, proudly, on the flat summit of a hill nearby.

 **So anyways, I hope this is ok and it's kind of short but writers' block has been hitting me hard. Even if you think this sucked, please review on how I can do better- I really appreciate it, so don't worry about being shy. I love every bit of feedback, regardless of tone.**

 **So idk if I'll wait to update until next month or if the writer's block will go away or not, but stay tuned for more *jazz hands***


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